


STOP F#$@%&* SWEARING!

by Furyborne



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Blue Team Drama, Hurt/Comfort, I wrote this in an afternoon with no beta and crippling anxiety, Mentioned Michael J. Caboose, Mild torture, Rated T for language, Violence, Wash being a self-sacrificing dumbass, can be read as pre-Tuckington, ridiculous escape scenario, this was not a well-thought-out bit of writing, this work is inspired by art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21844660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Furyborne/pseuds/Furyborne
Summary: A promise is a promise.Tucker didn’t want to think about it anymore, but those words kept looping through his head in Wash’s melodramatic voice.“I’ll keep you safe. I swear.”“I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear.”“I’ll protect you! I swear!”
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	STOP F#$@%&* SWEARING!

**Author's Note:**

> *nervous wave* Hello. This is my first time posting anything I've ever written and I am thoroughly freaked out. But, this is one of those, "If I don't do it now, I'll never do it later," kinda deals.  
> I saw the most beautiful artwork that sparked quite a bit of inspiration in me and I just HAD to write something for it. 2k+ words later and it's almost two in the morning, so Nighttime Me is chanting "Post! It!" before Daytime Me catches wind and chickens out.
> 
> I hope someone enjoys this, but if you don't, please don't comment on it. I am well aware of the many faults of this fic (so... so many) and I just wanted to get into the practice of posting my writing instead of hoarding it on my laptop like some eldritch bookwyrm.

This was the worst rescue.  
Ever.  
Of all time.

He’d gone in just a few minutes early. He’d thought he heard one of his teammates screaming and he just couldn’t hold off any more.  
Timing could make or break a plan and, well... Wash’s plan was about as broken as it could get at this point.  
At least, he thought it was.  
He’d been surrounded and bashed over the head. Stupid. Careless. Played right into their trap. Their obvious trap. Or it would have been obvious if he hadn’t been so fixated on the “what if’s” of what could be happening to his teammates.  
Idiot. Such a rookie mistake.  
And now he’d been stripped of his armor and was trussed up so tightly he was pretty sure he was already losing feeling in his fingers and toes.  
He tugged on the chain that kept his hands just above his head. Little to no play in the length, but he was still able to sit, if he allowed his arms to extend fully.  
His ankles had been crossed and bound, but he could stand if he needed to. Maybe he could get enough leverage to yank the chain out of the- yeah, no, nope. That was just going to dislocate his shoulders. Or his wrists.  
Giving the chain one last petulant tug, he knelt once again, feeling the grit beneath his knees. He didn’t even want to contemplate the uses for sand on a dungeon floor. He glanced at the far wall near the door, where a darkly stained scrap of cloth dangled from one of another set of cuffs.  
Very absorbent stuff, sand...  
Suddenly, the barred door was yanked open. The guard tossed a body roughly onto the floor, sealing the room once again.  
When the body groaned, Wash could’ve cried. He knew that whiny tone!  
“Tucker!” he whispered.  
Another groan, and suddenly Tucker was pushing himself to sitting.  
And all the blood drained from Wash’s face.  
Tucker’s right eye was swollen shut, a ragged gash splitting his lips on the same side. A vivid bruise stained his left cheek, and more could be seen leading down his throat and beneath the edge of his torn shirt.  
Fuck, he wasn’t even wearing his Kevlar under-armor anymore.  
“Wash?” Tucker’s clear eye widened before he winced. “What the hell are you doing here?!”  
Shame. Embarrassment. Fear. Pain. Distress. All these scrambled through his mind, but he refused to let a single emotion show.  
“I’m here to rescue you guys,” he replied, trying for suave confidence, but he felt the uncertainty bleeding into his voice.  
“Well, fucking fantastic. Caboose isn’t even here!”  
Wash couldn’t have heard that right. His intel wasn’t wrong. So many witnesses had seen the Blues get captured... “What?”  
Tucker backed himself against the wall next to Wash and leaned his head back, cradling his left arm around his middle. He took a ragged breath as he stretched out his legs. “I said Caboose is gone.”  
Wash almost allowed himself to panic at that before Tucker continued.  
“He kept asking to use the bathroom and they got fed up and let him go and that was the last I saw of him. Heard the guard saying something about not having the manpower to search for the idiot.” Tucker smirked a little.  
Wash’s mouth gaped in shock before he realized... He wasn’t even really surprised. He’d seen Caboose win arguments simply by spouting the most nonsensical things imaginable and wearing the other party into a resigned submission which they embraced just so they could get away from the conversation.  
Unfortunately, angry guards meant... “Is that when they beat you?”  
Tucker tilted his head toward Wash and cracked an uneven smile. “Nah, they just couldn’t take my A+ inadequacy jokes.”  
Wash ground his teeth, and looked straight into Tucker’s eye, trying to convey that he was completely, deadly serious. “I’m so sorry. This never should have happened to you, Tucker. To you or Caboose.” He swallowed back the lump of rage that threatened to choke him. “I swear they’ll regret touching you.”  
His friend’s smile faltered briefly before he closed his eye and leaned his head back once more.  
Wash sighed and sagged against his restraints, feeling the pinch against his skin and knowing he deserved it. They should’ve been out of here by now.  
He felt a gentle flick against his ear and spun to glare at Tucker, who was glaring right back.  
“Don’t do that,” Tucker said softly.  
“Do what? You’re the one that flicked ME!”  
“Don’t sit there taking the blame for everything.”  
Wash deflated a little. He didn’t realize he was so easy to read. He used to be better at this. Now, he was just sloppy.  
Another flick. “What did I just say?!”  
Wash wanted to smile. He wanted to press his forehead to Tucker’s and say he was sorry, for everything. He wanted to know what that gleam in Tucker’s eye was about.  
He was about to ask when the door banged open and a guard with a bulky hose propped against his side strode in.  
So many scenarios raced through Wash’s mind in a split second before he twisted his body around, arms and legs pulled taut against his restraints, and shielded his friend from the stinging blast of icy water that would’ve hit him in the face.  
Tucker pulled his legs back to his body and hissed in pain.  
But at least he could still breathe, thought Wash as the stinging turned to burning, turned to numbness, returned to stinging.  
He shouted over the roar of the water, “You'll be okay, Tucker! I swear! I’ve got you!”  
Just as suddenly as it began, the deluge ceased, and the door clanged shut again, the guards laughing on the other side.  
Wash’s ears were ringing in the sudden silence. Or maybe it was a bit of shock, he thought as he panted shivering breaths against Tucker’s face.  
Tucker’s dry face.  
He’d saved him. If only for a moment, he’d saved him.  
He would do anything he could to protect him.  
After all. A promise is a promise.

Tucker stared at his idiot friend. He did NOT gaze. That was mushy shit he refused to admit to. But he definitely stared.  
He stared in shock when the door had opened and Wash had straddled him. He stared in awe as he heard the hiss of the water hose and saw the spray as the stream made impact with Wash’s back. He stared in wonder as Wash gasped through gritted teeth and slammed his eyes shut because holy FUCK that water was freezing and Wash was just taking the force of it all.  
Because otherwise, it would have hit Tucker square in the face. With his most definitely broken nose, he might have even drowned sitting up.  
“You'll be okay, Tucker! I swear! I’ve got you!” his friend had gritted out, his jaw clenched.  
And now, Wash knelt above him, shivering uncontrollably, his face blotchy and his lips an unnatural blue, his arms straining against the chains that held him to the wall.  
Tucker eased him to the floor, trying not to pull on Wash’s arms too much, but suddenly the team leader shook himself and took a deep, shuddering breath.  
“I’m alright.”  
“You didn’t have to do that.”  
Wash gave a weak smile and said, “A good team leader has to have your back AND your front.”  
Tucker snickered. “Bow chicka bow wow?”  
Over the next few minutes, Tucker chatted softly with Wash, watching his color slowly return. A small blessing that the water had already drained into the sandy floor, but the air was still chilly, and every now and then he’d see his friend shudder as though he were trying to hide just how cold he really was.  
There was clanking out in the hall. Damnit, the bastards were coming back and that couldn’t mean anything good. He couldn’t help the tiny whimper as he tried to make himself smaller, the pain he felt too much to hold in for a moment in the face of new pain to come.  
Wash nudged him with his knee. “Hey. I’ll keep you safe. I swear. They won’t touch you again.”  
The noise of guards getting closer made Wash perk up better than an IV of coffee and suddenly the ex-freelancer was sliding back into Tucker’s lap.  
Under different circumstances....  
Tucker’s focus centered on Wash’s face. It was so close, now. He glanced up at the cuffs and saw the chafed skin of Wash’s wrists, rubbed raw and bleeding, and yet still straining against the metal, forcing thin rivulets of blood to trickle down his forearm so he could maintain his position as Tucker’s shield.  
Well, fuck that. Tucker wasn’t some damsel in distress. He didn’t need Wash constantly sacrificing himself. He needed Wash to BE HERE.  
Tucker felt his hand begin to lift, to press Wash’s arm so he’d settle back beside him.  
And suddenly his ears were ringing, and debris was flying everywhere and Wash was hunched toward him and a chunk of rock must’ve nicked his head, ‘cause there was a trail of red leaking down the side of his face, now, and dripping on to Tucker’s.  
Wash’s eyes had gone glassy. He coughed and spasmed, and coughed again before he could say, “Told you you’d be fine.”  
Tucker leaned over to see what the hell had just happened and was greeted by the glorious sight of a smoking, gaping hole in the cell, and scenes of carnage and flame beyond that.  
He helped the dazed Washington back onto the floor and propped him against the wall, trying to relieve a bit of the tension on the man's wrists before he stood and ran out the cell opening in search of a hapless guard with a key to the chains.  
He found what was left of the guard who’d kicked him in the face and returned the favor before he grabbed the keys from his belt and bolted back to the cell.  
Wash was leaning back, blinking slowly. That was something of a concern, but Tucker would worry about it once they made it out of here.  
He took off the leg restraints and unlocked the cuffs. He startled when Wash’s hands just fell to his lap, completely slack. He knelt before his friend, tapping gently at his incredibly pale cheek.  
“Hey. Hey, Wash. Come on. Let’s get out of here. I need you to wrap your arm around my shoulder, okay?”  
Wash mumbled what Tucker assumed was an affirmative, so Tucker grabbed his arms and hauled him to standing.  
Wash almost fell into him, and now Tucker could see why.  
On the wall. So much red.  
He looked down at Wash’s back to find it riddled with shrapnel, oozing blood.  
“FUCK!”  
He tried pulling Wash’s arm around his shoulder once more, but he was pretty sure his own ribs were at the very least bruised and lifting the man was proving more than his battered body could handle.  
He took as deep a breath as he could manage, readying himself to just go for it for the sake of getting the fuck out of this hellhole, when a dark blue hand entered his vision and took Wash’s weight from him.

Tucker didn’t want to think about it anymore, but those words kept looping through his head in Wash’s melodramatic voice.  
“I’ll keep you safe. I swear.”  
“I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear.”  
“I’ll protect you! I swear!”  
I swear, I swear, I swear........  
All those stupid promises that meant nothing if they took Washington away from him. From them.  
He never wanted to hear Wash swear anything ever again if it meant he’d end up in a hospital bed like he was now...

Wash vaguely remembered seeing Caboose. And hearing Tucker yell at Caboose. And feeling like he was floating on a very painful cloud.  
Now, he was on his side, surrounded by soft pillows, his back stinging like a bitch, and his mouth drier than cotton, with machines making shrill noises that made his head throb.  
First thing’s first- he found that familiar med button and pressed it, hearing the machine beep in such a satisfying way that meant drugs were on their way to his system.  
Then, he reached out to the nightstand and retrieved a glass of water, sipping gratefully before the plastic slipped out of his hand.  
The splash on the tiles alerted the person who’d been sleeping in the chair next to the bed.  
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you,” Wash croaked out. He wished he hadn’t dropped the water. His throat felt like it was on fire.  
Tucker stared at him in utter disbelief before stooping to pick up the cup and refill it, setting the rim against Wash’s parched lips.  
“You’re an idiot,” he finally said. “You can’t be doing shit like that!”  
Wash was a little taken aback. “Tucker, I’m fine. I swear-”  
“Don’t you fucking say it!” Tucker shouted. “You’re NOT fine, you’re recovering from a shit ton of trauma caused by being a dumbass hero!”  
Wash sighed, almost pleased that Tucker was this riled up because that meant Tucker was HERE and ALIVE and SAFE.  
He grabbed Tucker’s hand and squeezed it gently, warmth filling him because he knew now just how much Tucker really cared.  
...okay, maybe he’d pressed the button one too many times...  
Regardless, Tucker was safe. Caboose was safe. Even he, himself, to a certain extent, was safe.  
He felt Tucker squeeze his hand back as he drifted softly to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Please check out the art that inspired this fic. My writing might be a raging dumpster fire, but the art is AMAZING!!
> 
> https://papanorth.tumblr.com/post/186319120356/whats-this-situation-who-knows-is-it-self
> 
> I would also like to add- The Caboose escape: I completely believe that if anyone could pull that stunt, it would be Michael J. Caboose. Precious bean.
> 
> This feels like one of those things that I'll obsess over and rework and edit time and again. So, maybe one day, I'll add a bit of spit and polish to this idea.


End file.
